


The Duelist's Dilemma

by Kaesa



Series: Founders of Hogwarts [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Fluff, Historical, Humor, One Shot, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Pastfic, Pre-Canon, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesa/pseuds/Kaesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Defense herbologist Helga Lockhart reluctantly goes to watch a duel with her irritating older brother; meanwhile, duelist and Dark creature hunter Basil Hufflepuff tries to hold his own in a duel against a foreign noble.  Contains sibling rivalry, athletic competition, and a meet-cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Duelist's Dilemma

  


  


People who knew Helga Lockhart in passing tended to note the unfortunate irony they saw in comparing her with her older brother. Helga was pretty in an imperfect, freckly sort of way, but hardly remarkable. Leofric, on the other hand, was _beautiful_, in that way that sometimes got people bogged down in unwieldy adjectives and comparisons with famous works of art. It was, agreed many, a pity that the girl hadn't got the looks in the family, as, what with her knowing Lady Aeaeae's daughter, there was a chance that she might've married up, and far up, too.

People who _did_ know Helga, on the other hand, pitied Leo, because while he might've been nice to look at, he had all the sense of a guppy. Helga, on the other hand, was extremely (some would say frighteningly) good with plants, and was doing quite well on her own selling botanical security systems to paranoiac nobles, of which there were more than a few. It was good, interesting work, so long as you stayed apolitical, and it paid well, not because of the dangers _Helga_ had to brave, but because of the dangers that the nobles might have to brave if she told anybody else how to get past the plants.

So when her boorish, idiot brother showed up to demand that she come with him to see a duel rather than conduct some Transfiguratory experiments on some Tentacula cuttings, her reaction was rather negative.

"No," she said firmly. "I've got to get these spells on before it's too late, Leo. Why do you want me to come?"

"Be_cause,_" said Leo, "I haven't the respectability to get in -- I owe the guards a bit, you see, and they get sore sometimes -- and they're just about two of the best duelists in the _world_, and Stígandrson is _brilliant_, from what I've heard, and he _never_ comes here because he's always on the Continent and what _is_ that? I'm not taking that. It's full of dirt," he said, wrinkling his nose as she tried to hand him a small pot.

The bud of the plant in the pot sniffed at Leo curiously. He backed away. "If you're going to stand here blathering at me about a duel, you're going make up for standing right in my way," she snapped. "Now hold this."

He took the pot, holding it as far away from his face as possible.

"Stígandrson, Stígandrson, where do I know that name?" she muttered as she watered a few plants with her wand. "Wizards' Council, Stígandr Björnson. Allied with Rowena's mum, I think, isn't he?"

Leo blinked. "Isn't _everybody_ allied with her?" he asked. "She's the Chief, of course they are."

"Don't be silly, Leo," said Helga, "some of them are just frightened of her. They're the ones who tend to ask for hedge mazes."

"Well, I'm not talking about politics," he said. "Those aren't important."

"Now, if you think about it," said Helga, "a hedge maze is a silly idea --"

"Helga, this plant is -- I don't _know_ what it's doing," said Leo, watching the bud study the tip of his nose very closely.

"-- It's far too costly to maintain, because the gardeners get lost or eaten, and all the enemy has to do is remember to bring their broom--"

"HELGA!" The bud had opened to reveal teeth, and a tongue.

"-- only, of course, generally they don't, because they're nearly as dense as their intended targets."

"_Helga_, it's _going _to_ eat _my_ nose,_" hissed Leo, panicking.

She rolled her eyes. "Give me that before you drop it," she added, grabbing the potted plant from Leo's hand and putting it back where it'd been. She patted it gently, and it purred. "Anyway, Björnson's got two sons, hasn't he? Hrafen and Ari. Hrafen's the eldest. Don't tell me he's _dueling._ What a waste of time." She tsked.

"No, the second one is," said Leo, "Ari. And he's _really_ good at it."

"That's nice," said Helga, rolling her eyes. "It's still a waste of time."

"But Helga, look, supposing you met him and... and sold him some plants?" he said, a scheming light in his eyes.

She ignored this light studiously. "Considering the climate, they'd have to be evergreens, and those have terrible prickly temperaments," she said, grimacing. "Very difficult to work with, and almost impossible to train, and they don't really pay attention to mere mortals. A bit like cats, actually," she decided. "I like cats, they're useful enough, but who's ever heard of a guard cat?"

"Helga, _please?_" whined Leo, who had apparently given up on quasi-intelligent argument.

"_No,_" she said firmly.

"If you don't come with me, I'll owl Mum," he threatened.

Helga considered this. If he owled their mother, he would doubtless receive a reply telling him not to whine and to be kind to his little sister and all of the same good advice that mothers generally gave their children. On the other hand, she would also send an owl to Helga, telling her not to complain and to respect to her elder brother, and all of the same old tiresome things that mothers generally _continue__d_ to give their _grown_ children.

She sighed. "_Fine,_ Leo."

* * *

Basil rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up a bit more. He'd been out all night trying to chase down some sort of creature that had been preying on the children of a small town. Unfortunately, he hadn't caught the damned thing -- if he had, he'd be a good deal less tired for the duel today. He did, however, have a good idea of what to expect from the creature, as it -- she -- seemed only to be a hag who'd taken advantage of the children's ignorance.

Parents _ought_ to warn their children about hags and boggarts and werewolves and things, Basil thought. More and more he was hearing about people who thought themselves "advanced" and "unsuperstitious" being devoured by such beasts, simply because they were supposed not to exist.

And now he was to duel a supercilious, overdressed noble -- it should be easy, Basil thought. After all, the man had no practical experience; he'd never worked a day in his life, and certainly never _needed_ to. It couldn't have made him very good at dueling.

Basil paced up and down the dueling stage, measuring its length and width in steps. Stage duels, unlike the more common ring duels, were for especially skilled duelists, because the extremely narrow area allowed for no room to dodge to the side -- unless one's opponent had incredibly bad aim. It was important to know where one could and could not step, because not only could one be disqualified, but the slightly raised stage meant that turned ankles were easy to get, and one had to either ignore or avoid such things in order to win the duel. Turned ankles also made it harder to catch hags, so it was doubly important that Basil be careful.

The door on the far side of the room opened, and two men walked in, babbling to each other in some savage foreign tongue. They had very similar features, but the one on the right -- the laughing one -- wore extravagantly impractical robes with fancy sleeves, while the one on the left seemed altogether more sensible. The flashy one -- Ari Stgandrson, Basil thought, from the accounts he'd heard of what the man was like -- nodded at him and laughed. The other -- apparently his brother, Hrafen -- rolled his eyes amicably.

The more vain of the Stígandrsons looked Basil up and down, an incredulous sort of amusement on his face. "Hufflepuff?"

Basil nodded his head briefly, as much of a bow as he would give to this fop. "Yes."

"We duel at noon?"

"Unless there's been a last-minute change," said Basil lightly.

"Forgive me, Master Hufflepuff," he said, with the tone of one who is about to say something unforgivable, "but you do not look to be a... suitably impressive opponent for such a duelist as myself."

"My apologies, sir," said Basil. "Werewolves and mountain trolls are more impressed with skill than with fancy clothes and titles."

Stígandrson raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well. I feel certain they will not be disappointed. Nor will my admirers."

Basil smiled pleasantly. He already hated the man. "We'll see about that later on." He shrugged, and walked out of the building, wanting to keep the last word.

"That's some tough competition," somebody snorted, from behind him. Basil turned and found himself face-to-face with another duelist in the dark creature hunting business. They'd brought down a dragon in a larger group at one point, but he didn't really associate with his fellow hunters, aside from paying guild dues. Basil thought his name was Paise -- he'd been a sturdy, competent duelist, but Basil recalled a mean streak and an opportunism that set him on edge a bit more than usual. "Which one are you taking, the fop or the boring one?" Paise asked.

"The fop, of course," said Basil. "He'll trip over his own cloak, if he's not weighed down too much to move by all that finery."

"Obviously never been in the woods, then," said Paise, clicking his tongue. "By the way, how's that business with the child-stealer going?"

Basil cleared his throat importantly. "Quite well, thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I had better prepare..." He didn't want someone else stealing his job -- it wasn't as if simple _dueling _was very profitable, after all. Shaking his head, he walked away; what he _really_ needed to do was surprise the hag in her own safe haven, but that might mean chasing a hut on chicken legs through a forest for _hours_....

* * *

Helga looked around the large stone room, feeling rather out-of-place amid the rabid dueling fans. While the nobles -- strange foreign nobles, she saw, with brightly-colored clothes and serious faces -- leaned forward in their cushioned seats and whispered to each other, exchanging names, statistics, and bets, she, Leo, and the other commoners had to stand in front and elbow people out of the way to get a good view. As Helga had sharp elbows, she managed to get to the front of the room easily enough, and Leo trailed after her, ever lazy.

And as heads bobbed out of her line of sight she saw... a large, long, empty platform. How _exciting_. She looked over at Leo, who was leaning against the railing eagerly. "So, what now?" she asked.

"Shh!" he hissed, waving at her to shutup_rightnow_, then nodding at the front of the room.

They watched as two men walked out on to the platform -- one well-dressed, who carried himself with a certain haughtiness that Helga didn't think was warranted. The other was dressed more soberly, and looked like some close relative of the first.

"So, ah, which one is it, then?" Helga asked. "So I know who I'm supposed to ask for a water-walking demonstration."

"That isn't _funny_, he really _is_ amazing," said Leo.

Helga rolled her eyes. "Which one is he, then?"

"How should _I_ know? I've never met him," said Leo.

"Ah, well." Helga supposed it was the serious one -- the other one had long, flowing robes with floppy sleeves and a beautiful pattern of runes woven into the cloth, and while she was certain it was all _very_ fashionable, or at least very expensive, she couldn't imagine anyone running around shooting spells at people while wearing it. In fact, wearing it at _all_ looked like hard work.

But when somebody with a Sonorus spell announced Ari Stígandrson, the man with the rich robes stepped out, and the other quickly hurried to a spot in the nobles' seated section. At the other end of the stage, another man stepped out -- he was, the announcer informed them, Basil Hufflepuff. Helga leaned forward to get a better look at him -- she suspected she had the advantage over the nobles in this, because they might be up high, but she was in _front_. Hufflepuff looked a bit distracted, as if he was trying to do arithmetic in his head. But then he focused on his opponent, and tensed a bit.

"I'll bet you Stígandrson wins," said Leo excitedly.

"Whatever you say." Helga shrugged. Privately, she liked the looks of Hufflepuff better. He looked terribly competent. Like a duelist _ought_ to look. Slightly deadly, with a side of honor and a good dose of practical cunning.

"No, really! How much d'you want to bet?"

She shrugged again. "A sickle?"

"A _sickle?_" Leo looked disappointed. "Look, I need money --"

"And if you do, a bet's not a good way to get it. You're only asking because you want me to loan you some money and you _know_ that I know that you'll never pay it back," said Helga. "A sickle."

"But... oh, _fine_," sighed Leo.

And as they turned back to the dueling stage, Hufflepuff and Stígandrson each walked to the center and bowed -- Stígandrson deeply and formally, and Hufflepuff graciously, but rather more cautiously -- then turned, walked about five paces, and waited.

* * *

This was the part of the duel that Basil hated the most. He knew it made no sense, but he didn't like having his back turned on something he was supposed to be fighting, even when it was just another duelist.

He tensed, ready to turn at the slightest sound from the announcer. Waiting, waiting... "GO!"

And he whirled, shot the Gouging Hex, _Eruere_, at Stígandrson, and ducked a spell -- _Tristitia_, he thought, sadness. So Stígandrson favored fancy mental spells. Well, he could deal with that -- he'd fought dementors once, and they weren't so bad if you got good at holding grudges.

Basil tried a _Liquifacere_, then quickly blocked _Mediocritas_, or most of it, at any rate.

Stígandrson, meanwhile, was boggling at a hole in his robe, which had melted from Basil's spell when he hadn't got out of the way in time. Basil took two steps forwards, sent a simple _Expelliarmus_, just in case it worked, then jumped back as some sort of magically-generated fire blazed out of Stígandrson's wand. When it cleared, he could see a very annoyed look on Stígandrson's face. He must not be used to opponents with reflexes. Fops were fun to annoy, and once they lost their bratty little tempers, they were easy to beat.

And then, Basil had an _evil_ thought. He grinned madly for a moment, dashed forward, and said, "_Atramentum!_" Black ink suddenly spurted out of the tip of his wand, spattering Stígandrson's expensive robes.

He didn't understand what Stígandrson was saying now, but it was probably obscene, Basil thought. He jumped back a bit as another bout of fire came towards him, along with an _Ineptus_ that Basil didn't block fast enough. He stumbled, but caught himself before he fell.

Stígandrson was good and angry now. He just needed to be disarmed. "_Nebula!_" Basil said, and a thick cloud enveloped Stígandrson. Without losing a moment, he shouted "_Expelliarmus!_"

The spell had been slightly impaired by the mist, something Basil had counted on, but the wand clattered to the floor of the stage, just under the haze, and Basil hurried forward to grab it, thereby winning the duel.

But _no __\--_ the mist suddenly cleared, and Stígandrson emerged, brandishing ..._another_ wand. Basil had not been prepared for this, as it wasn't within the rules. And the ink-spattered Ari Stígandrson pointed his second wand straight at Basil's nose and said, with disgust, "_Inflamare!_"

It was really the _Ineptus_ from earlier that saved him -- rather than simply ducking ineffectively, Basil stepped to the side and, much to his surprise, completely off the platform, falling onto his back.

He found himself looking dazedly at the ceiling, unsure as to where he was or what had just happened, when Stígandrson suddenly loomed over him. Instinctively, he shouted "_Expelliarmus!_" again.

The crowd cheered. "AND THE DUEL GOES TO ARI STÍGANDRSON!"

Realizing slowly what had happened, and that his ankle was probably just a bit twisted, Basil began to pick himself up. "I suppose you won't need to go taking out your _third_ wand, then," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Helga blinked. "But I thought Hufflepuff just won," she said.

"No, no, he stepped off the stage," said Leo, shrugging. "Very bad form, stepping off the stage."

"Well, yes, but he _disarmed_ Stígandrson," said Helga. "_Twice_."

"...he can't have disarmed him twice," said Leo, "what are you _talking_ about?"

"He disarmed him the first time and then he disarmed him again after he came out with the other wand," said Helga.

"What other wand?" Leo said blankly.

"Weren't you watching?" Helga asked. "The other wand!"

"You're not _allowed_ two wands," said Leo.

"Well, that apparently didn't stop him," said Helga. "Where's that announcer?"

"I think they generally sit over there somewhere," said Leo, gesturing vaguely. "But you must have seen wrong! He was fantastic! And that fire!"

"And that extra wand, yes," said Helga, rolling her eyes.

"There _wasn__'__t_ one," Leo insisted, looking out towards the dueling stage again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Stígandrson. "You're just doing this to get out of paying me a sickle, aren't you?" He frowned. "...Helga?" He turned around and was met with unfamiliar faces milling about. "Helga?"

Helga, being Helga, had gone to find somebody to yell at.

* * *

"I _demand_ that _Hufflepuff_ pay for this disgusting thing he did to my robes!" Stígandrson shouted at the judge.

"I'm sorry, sir, but there's only the prize money --"

"_Feh_," he spat, "_prize money_. It is _nothing_ to me!"

It was actually quite a nice amount of gold compared to most duels, Basil thought, but he didn't say that. Instead he said, "Well, I doubt you saw this from your seat, but --"

"You are all barbaric! I shall never duel here again! This island is full of _criminals_ and _thieves _and --"

And an angry-looking woman burst into the room. "_He_ was carrying two wands," she said, pointing at Stígandrson.

"Who are _you?_" asked Stígandrson, taken aback.

"That's not important," said the woman.

"...well, he has got a point, who _are_ you?" Basil asked, blinking. This had never happened before.

"You? Shut up," she snapped. "Now, Master Stígandrson was apparently cheating rather blatantly, if I've had the rules properly explained to me," she said.

"She is obviously in the pay of Hufflepuff," said Stígandrson.

"Don't be ridiculous -- I've never even heard of him before today," she said, sounding annoyed.

"You cannot have been to many duels, then," said Stígandrson. "I hear he's been forced to live off the prizes since he can't hunt properly."

"Just this one," she said, nodding.

"Ah, but then how can you know the rules?"

Basil thought he probably had her there, but he wasn't going to say anything.

"My brother explained them to me," she said. "And no, he isn't in anybody's pay -- as if anyone would pay _him_. Anyway, if Master Hufflepuff here is living off of dueling prizes, I don't think he'd be able to pay me off," she said. "Are you in charge of this whole mess?" she asked the judge.

The judge, by now quite unaccustomed to being allowed to speak, blinked and considered this question. "...well, more or less. But this isn't how things are done, miss, you can't just barge in here and --"

"Well I _have_. Now, _he __\--_" here she pointed at Basil "-- clearly won, having disarmed somebody not once but _twice_. And _he __\--_" she jabbed a finger at Stígandrson "-- is a liar, and probably wore those robes to hide wands up the sleeves and things, because frankly, I think it's a wonder he can _move_ in them."

"Are you going to let some peasant woman say such things to _me?_" Stígandrson asked.

"I may not have a title," she snapped, "but I'm trustworthy, and anyone I've worked for will back me up on that. You can ask the Chief of the Wizards' Council herself."

The judge looked from the woman to Basil to Stígandrson, and, weighing the facts, came to the obvious conclusion.

"Guards, please take these two away," he called, pointing at Basil and the woman.

He probably _could_ have taken both guards out, he told himself later, but that would have been most unsporting.

* * *

"Well, that was fun," said Helga, glaring back at the retreating guards. "I swear I didn't see the guards when I came in -- they must've been out eating or something. Augh, I've got to find Leo..." She turned away, trying to see where they could get back into the building again.

"...erm, excuse me?" Hufflepuff said from behind her.

  


She turned. "Yes?" she said.

He looked rather at a loss for words for a few moments. Finally, he asked, "What _was_ that?"

"That was me trying to get out of paying my idiot brother a sickle," said Helga pleasantly.

"A sickle. Ah." His lost expression did not leave his face.

  


"It's more that I don't like being wrong when I'm actually right," she explained lightly. "That mist was a clever trick, by the way. "

  


"Do you really think so?" he asked, brightening. "I tend not to use things like that, they're rather impractical for what I generally deal with -- werewolves and things, generally they've got very good noses and --"

  


"_Werewolves?_" Helga frowned. "Surely they don't allow _werewolves_ in duels, do they?"

  


"Oh, no, of course not." Hufflepuff shuddered. "I meant in the woods."

  


"...in the woods?" Helga blinked.

  


"You really _aren__'__t_ familiar with dueling, are you?" he asked, amused. "Most of us are nobles like Stígandrson or general-nasty-thing-hunters."

  


"Does Stígandrson count as a general nasty thing?" Helga asked.

  


He laughed. "Oh, if only. No, no, when you hire somebody to get rid of nobles, I believe they're called _assassins_."

  


"So I've heard," said Helga. "I'm Helga, by the way. Helga Lockhart."

  


"Basil Hufflepuff -- well, I suppose you knew that," he said.

  


"All the same, I'm pleased to meet you, sir," she said, imitating Stígandrson's ridiculous bow.

  


He laughed. "Basil," he said. "I mean. You can call me that. Er. Basil. ...you don't _really_ know the Chief of the Wizards' Council, do you?" he asked.

  


"I grew up with her daughter Rowena," she said, "and I occasionally advise her on gardening. Although Lord Slytherin's asked me to do some for him, as well -- I'm a bit hesitant to take the job..." Lord Slytherin was Lady Aeaeae's most powerful opponent on the Wizards' Council.

  


He laughed. "I doubt you'll be hauled before the Council for treason for growing a few onions for her."

  


She raised an eyebrow. "Most of my plants tend to be carnivorous, poisonous, glowing, or all three."

  


"Ah, well, that's different," he said, looking impressed. "May your plants protect you from angry Council Chiefs, in that case."

  


"Let's hope they're up to the task," she said, "or Lord Slytherin's getting a rather raw deal. At any rate, would you be so kind as to help me find my idiot brother? He's a general nasty thing, so I'm sure you'd be of great help."

  


"Well, I think the exit's over here somewhere," said Basil, "but of course, being a duelist, I don't usually have to use it. Then, I usually don't get kicked out, either..."

  


* * *

Leo managed to find them first. "Helga you _owe me a sickle_ who's _that?_" he asked, staring at the Strange Man With Her.

"Leo, this is Basil, the winner of the duel. And I don't owe you a sickle," she said.

"Yes, you _do,_" Leo whined.

"No, I d -- Leo, I know how this conversation is going to go already," Helga said flatly.

"No you don't."

"Yes, Leo, I do."

"No you don't!"

"Goodbye, Leo. I'm going home now."

"_Helga_, you _owe me a sickle._" He was really annoyed about that bit.

"He really does know more than two sentences," Helga assured Basil. "Are you hungry?"

"Am I hungry?" Basil looked confused.

  


"Is he _hungry?_" Leo asked. "Did you just ask if he was _hungry?_"

  


"Another two sentences, will wonders never cease," said Helga, rolling her eyes. "Yes, are you hungry? You can come have lunch with me, I live a few miles away."

  


"You're asking him to _lunch?_" All his Older Brother Senses went off. And, well.

  


"He just fought an arrogant cheating git, Leo, you'd think he'd be hungry, wouldn't you?" Leo didn't follow her logic at all.

  


Basil looked shifty. "I am sort of hungry, I suppose..."

  


"You see?" Helga grinned.

  


"But. But." Leo blinked.

  


"If you don't want to come, you can go back to Mum's," said Helga.

  


"...well. Fine. _Maybe I will_," said Leo, a dangerous glint in his eyes. It was only after he'd said it that he realized it didn't sound nearly as badarse as he'd intended it to.

"All right," Helga said sunnily. "See you later, then." She waved merrily, and motioned at that Basil to follow her.

He turned and looked back at Leo with a sort of helpless shrug. Ha. Leo knew better. He'd been sort of unpleasant to an awful lot of girls but _this was his sister._ This evil must clearly be dealt with.

But not before he'd met Ari Stígandrson. After all, Ari Stígandrson hadn't deprived him of a rightfully-earned sickle. Fighting evil forgotten, Leo went to find his hero, and to ask him where he'd bought his robes.

  



End file.
